Eric Sable Learning to Fly
by Steven Cooper
Summary: Orphaned as an infant by the Death Eaters, a young wizard comes of age at the same time as the Boy Who Lived.
1. Chapter 1

Hagrid walked alone down the shops in Hogsmeade, his coat pulled tight against the rain. He mused on how it was yet another dark, gloomy day; fitting for the times they were living in and the depressing events unfolding around them – what with wizards turning on one another, the bravest and noblest of them dying left and right, and He Who Must Not Be Named spreading his power throughout all the wizarding world. His dark purposes were threatening the delicate quiet that kept wizards from being noticed by muggles, even threatening the muggle world itself. So wrapped up was Hagrid in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the small woman keeping pace with him, quietly trying to gain his attention until in desperation she kicked him.

"'ere now! That's hardly polite."

"You are Hagrid, yes? You work at Hogwarts?" The questions darted at him like arrows, and her eyes carried a nervous energy. She was watching for something, as if in constant fear that some monstrous wave was about to sweep her away.

At the sight of her slight, trembling figure, all of Hagrid's indignation melted away. "Yes, that's me. Dumbledore himself hired me on to care for the place. What can I do for you?"

She suddenly shoved a bundle into Hagrid's massive hands. "His name is Eric. I need you to keep him for a while. I need to leave, and I can't risk taking him with me."

Hagrid's massive bulk shifted unsteadily. "Well, I don't know now. I got responsibilities, see, and I can't see how's I'm supposed to keep an infant safe; what with everything going on and all."

Her eyes siezed onto his and held them fast in a gaze so intense, Hagrid was lost in them. "Please- everyone knows how gentle you are. I need him safe, and you're the only one I can think of to trust. You must promise me – promise me you'll care for him personally!"

Hagrid looked at the small bundle. He was but a little thing in his massive hands; so helpless and so needing. The woman in front of him seemed almost the same – needing him to agree with all his heart. "Well, I can care for him a while. You are coming back for him, aren't you?"

Relief burst across the woman's face. "Oh, yes! Just as soon as I can. If you could just see that nothing happens to him, just for a little while, I'll be back before you know it."

Looking into the child's face, Hagrid resigned. "All right, then. I'll see the li'l nipper cared for m'self. You don't be long though." However, when Hagrid looked up, the woman had gone, as if the misty air had swallowed her up.

That was the first and last time Hagrid ever met Evelyn Sable.


	2. Chapter 2

Dumbledore thoughtfully looked sideways from the latest copy of The Daily Prophet into his teacup as Hagrid set the pot down. The most recent addition to the residents of Hagrid's hut was gleefully swinging in a makeshift crib made of tied up leather. "I've grown acustomed to your love of stray pets, Hagrid; but I believe the limit is found right about here."

"Well, sir, it's just temporary. Y'see, the boy's mother was so insistent that I take care of him and all, I could hardly refuse. I mean, if we'd all look after each other rather than ourselves, things would be a lot brighter, times being what they are and all."

"Indeed. I don't suppose you've seen the latest news, have you, my friend? Tell me, does this woman look familiar at all?" Dumbledore set the paper down and pointed to the cover page. There was another murder by Dark Forces Unknown, the victim found in a dark corner of Knockturn Alley. The picture clearly displayed, over and over, a scene of the local aurors hovering over the slight figure of a young woman lying crumpled in the alley – the victim of the most dreaded of curses. What little of Hagrid's features that could be seen turned an ashen white when the aurors moved aside and the picture displayed the poor, desperate woman he encountered the other day, who trusted to him the most precious thing in her world.

Dumbledore's features softened to the most gentlest of mentors. "Most unfortunate. So young a woman, and so vile a deed. We will need to find the young lad's family."

Hagrid suddenly rose up to his full height; the timbers under his feet groaning for the strain. "There's no need for that. I'll see to the lad m'self."

"Hagrid, I know how you are and how you feel. However, Hogwarts is no place for a child. He will grow up alone and isolated, unable to play with other children and too young to relate to the students. He will get under foot, in the way, and into trouble. He's much better off with relatives."

Dumbledore suddenly stopped as Hagrid stiffened against him, perhaps for the first time in his life. "Beggin' yer pardon, headmaster, but I don't think you know what you think – I really don't. The lady insisted, see? She pleaded for me to take care of her boy, and she made me promise to do it personally. Now, a promise is a promise, especially to a dead soul, so I've got no choice but to care for the boy m'self, no matter what anybody says. Besides, if the boy had kin who were any good, wouldn't she've taken him to them first?"

"Perhaps she had no choice; in any case, I seem to have no choice either." Hagrid anticipated a number of options, ranging from rebuke to his dismissal. Dumbledore, however, simply settled into his usual benign self. "I'll assign a house-elf to assist you in some of the more tedious tasks so that your work doesn't suffer. When the need arises, we will find a room in the castle for him. Of course, if we do find the child's family and they meet with your approval, I will expect some amount of co-operation."

Taken as he was by Dumbledore's attitude, Hagrid could only stutter. "Well, um, er, of course! If the lad's got family what will care for him proper like, I've got nothing against that."

It was many months before the woman's identity was discovered. By that time, Voldemort was dead, the famous Harry Potter had his scar, and any trace of the infant's family had long since gone cold. Meanwhile, Hagrid was still Hagrid, an elf named Willy was an eager caretaker, and Eric Sable was steadily becoming a fixture at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


	3. Chapter 3

Eric studied the collection of odd items in his room with what could almost be satisfaction. After years of tooling about the old castle, he was finally going to become one of the students. He already knew more about potions, enchantments, and spells than some of the graduates. Dumbledore, however, insisted that he go through the same steps as everyone else to become a proper wizard.

In many ways, that's what Eric wanted more than anything: to prove he was like everyone else. His appearance was what was usually accepted for an 11-year old boy. He had a long, spindly frame that posessed no more than the usual amount of clumsiness. Physically, his only striking feature was a head of hair grown down to his beltline; kept properly neat, clean, and tied into a long tail stretching down his spine. This and the coarse, faded and five-times mended clothes he wore were the only things that would attract attention to him. All else would have identified him as just another young boy.

On the other hand, his room seemed determined to prove otherwise. Scattered about a few rough tables were dusty and decaying tomes about almost every wizarding subject imaginable. On a weak and wobbly chair sat his collection of first year textbooks – old, worn, and dusty; but servicable for what a young student with no money needed. His equipment, though, was where his pride was shown. He had two size 2 cauldrons, one pewter and one copper, both smoothly cast bowls with perfect balance. His crystal phials were a meticulous collection from previous incomplete sets cast aside by the upperclasses for new; gathered, polished and preserved. His brass scales were the result of hours of scrap collection melted down and re-wrought into a set that could pass for the best Diagon Alley had to offer. His telescope was his own design, with lenses he ground and polished by hand until their focusing power was unmatched throughout the school. On the ledge sat Midget and Widget; two burrow owls he found as injured fledgelings, nursed back to health to become his most faithful companions.

Other items scattered throughout the room attested to Eric's pre-occupation with enchantments. His attempt at a working broomstick turned out an exceptional ebony handled flier, which had a slightly disquieting tendency to hover on it's own. A heavy braid of rope rested in the corner, one end flipping back and forth like the tail of a nervous cat. A hooded outfit lay folded in one corner with an intricately carved leather belt capping the pile, as if to hold the collection of clothing down.

One thing remained. A carpenter's lathe held an intricately carved stretch of pristinely carved cherrywood. The eighteen-inch dowel was perfectly hollowed out, with a plug neatly set aside awaiting the time a proper filler could be obtained. A pile of over three dozen remants in a variety of materials, any of which would have made a perfectly suitable wand, attested to Eric's unyielding perfectionism. Only one thing remained: what could Eric get to be a proper core for the only wand Eric ever intended to have?

"'ello there, Eric! How're we coming?" Eric never got over how Hagrid dwarfed his door, or how much he had to stoop in order to stand under the low ceiling of Eric's room. It was all the little things Hagrid had to go through to be a proper guardian for him that made Eric love him so much.

"We're almost there, sir. Just need to core the wand, and I'll be ready. I wish Dumbledore was more understanding, but he flatly refused me."

"Well, now, it's not exactly up to him, lad. Phoenix feathers don't grow on trees. Every feather taken from a phoenix without burning is one it won't be able to grow proper the next time around. Fawkes can't just give them away. Never mind, though, I have something for you about as good." Hagrid reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folding of paper. As he unfolded it, several long silver filaments were exposed.

Eric could barely catch his breath. "Are those what I think they are?"

Hagrid beamed with pride. "Hairs of a unicorn's mane. There was one trapped in a bramblebush in the Dark Forest. May have kicked me once or twice as I helped it loose, but I know it didn't mean nothin'. I got these from the briars."

"Unicorn's mane – taken without violence, too. If I can get the grafting to take, they should work well." Taking the hairs reverently to the lathe, Eric took a small wire and threaded them into the wooden shaft. As Hagrid watched for hours, he meticulously drove the endplug in place, staining and varnishing the wand until it shimmered. He then began an exhaustive litany of specially chosen binding spells until the room about them seemed charged with static. With all this completed, Eric suddenly paused and looked uncertainly to Hagrid, who replied with an earnest nod and smile. With his guardian's support behind him, Eric took hold of the new wand.

Everything seemed to stand perfectly still for a moment, then a wind started to blow through the room, rushing into a torrent. Books, clothing, bedsheets, and two excitable owls began a rolling orbit about the room. The ties on Eric's hair snapped under the strain, sending his well-combed tail into a frantic swirl of tangles about his head. All of this turned Eric's anticipation into panic as he maintained his grip, hoping nothing worse came of it. Suddenly, there was a loud cascading sound, like the base of a waterfall, and a flood of light flilled the room. Then it was over – all of it. Eric was still holding the wand, Midget and Widget were none the worse, if a bit ruffled; and Hagrid was still Hagrid.

Eric looked over uncertainly. "Was that right?"

Hagrid could only shrug. "Well, give it a try and let's see."

A spell – a simple one at first, obviously. Looking about his room, his eyes fell on the chair. Well, if it broke, it was a little loss so long as it took nothing with it. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The chair took to the air smoothly and evenly, hovering steadily, raising or lowering at his slightest thought. As the chair eased it's way about the room, arcing and turning in answer to Eric's every whim, it quickly became apparent that the wand was an ideal conduit for him. Looking over to Hagrid, Eric basked in the expression of delight on his mentor's face. "It's perfect – just perfect."


	4. Chapter 4

A week later found Eric re-groomed, composed and prepared for the most important night he ever had. As he sat and watched out a corridor window, the boats carrying the first-years to Hogwarts glided across the lake, their lantern floating in the night like a score of fireflies. His belongings were packed away and his room was locked up for the term. He waited until the group of them passed him on the stairs before taking up a place in the back. If he tried to cut in he'd have to explain himself, and he just wasn't ready to be that sociable.

He had watched the first-years make their entrance into life at Hogwarts for half a dozen years now, safely perched high above the floor and hidden by the ceiling spells. Now he was actually there among the students, taking his place in one of the four Houses. Eric's patience was wearing thin: he wanted to get into his house and onto dinner, and he had heard that inane rhyme of the hat five times too often.

Yet wait he had to as most of the other children were called, watching as they were directed to this house or that. Eric found that the hat seemed to know what it was doing. The children who ended up in Ravenclaw seemed quiet and serious, while Hufflepuffs all seemed quite happy in their seats. The Gryffindors were the usual outgoing lot. Slytherins, well, those that ended up there seemed as happy as the rest, evidently sitting where they felt they belonged.

Then the hall grew very quiet as the name everyone was waiting for was called. The hat seemed to take forever considering the fate of Harry Potter before finally chiming out "GRYFFINDOR!" Eric noted that the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seemed to take the news with quiet acceptance, while the Slytherins seemed to sneer and scoff at Harry; belittling him since, obvously, he wasn't Slytherin material.

As Harry found his seat, the din had suddenly become so loud that Eric almost missed it when his own name was called. Proudly, he drew himself up: this was his chance to get into the finest house he could. He needed the best house Hogwarts had to offer, because he was going to be the best: the smartest, cleverest, first in every effort that he found himself in…

"SLYTHERIN!"

Eric's entire body went numb. Slytherin? How by Sweet Brigid's Ghost did he end up in Slytherin? It couldn't be, there had to be some mistake. Finally, Professor McGonagall had to push Eric off the chair in order to get him moving again. Knowing that what the hat said was final, Eric made his way to the Slytherin's table.

He sat through the rest of the sorting cerimony locked in a vacant fog. He already hated how the other students were staring at him. He could hear them making comments about his clothes and hair. The upper classes were passing word up the table about how their house just took in 'the orphan of Hogwart's'. Worst of all, he found himself across the table from a boy named Draco Malfoy, who he was sure was lining up ways to make his life miserable.

Eric looked up to Hagrid, hoping to catch his eye in order to gain so much as a sympathetic glance. However, Hagrid seemed to be taken up with a new student - Harry Potter. Of course, Eric knew who Harry was, most of the wizarding world did. Yet it hurt Eric deeply that Hagrid would just overlook him for some other boy, no matter how famous.

Not even the start of the feast cheered Eric up. None of the other Slytherins said a word to him, other than to demand that he pass the plates shoved at him. It was fortunate that he wasn't feeling hungry, as most of the dishes before him vanished without substitution. It was therefore quite a surprise when Eric found himself staring at a plate of shepherd pies, with the most delightful spiced aroma. The pleasant surprise lasted only a moment before Malfoy stole the plate away for himself and two other rather abnoxious first years.

Eric was about to file this way as just another of the evening's disappointments when another pie and two cherry tarts appeared directly in front of him on a plate, with a small note tucked under the plate. Not wishing to surrender yet another chance at redeeming the meal, Eric dug in quickly. Once finished, he slid the note to the side of the table for an ounce of privacy.

Sorry to see that things have turned hard for you. Don't forget – you're never without friends in Hogwarts! Sincerely: Willy and the Kitchen Staff.

Eric quickly tucked the note away and cast a smile to nowhere in particular. If nothing else, at least Hogwart's house elves were still his friends. With friends like them, Hogwart's couldn't help but be a welcoming place.


	5. Chapter 5

As the evening passed into night and the students broke into their houses, Eric's depression returned. He was in Slytherin now, and that meant spending every evening in a room with people he really didn't like. He really wished that the reason he couldn't sleep was made of more than frustration, but that was the way things ended up. Eric needed a break, and he needed to relax: Eric needed to fly.

Escaping the tower was simple enough for someone who virtually lived the back corridors of the school. His locked room wouldn't be a challenge, either. He made sure to build in not less than three other routes in besides the main door. With luck, there would be only one challenge that could stop him.

As he moved the access panel behind his wardrobe aside, he found that Willy was waiting for him. "Oh, Master Eric! You must not do this! You will lose points for your house on the first night, and the others will be so upset with you! Willy knows that you are unhappy, but this is rash. Couldn't Willy fix dear Eric a nice cup of tea instead?"

Eric really did appreciate what Willy was trying to do, but he was far to upset to have his plans foiled. As a result, he came across far harsher than he intended. "Willy – if you know what I'm planning to do, then you know that I've thought it out. There's only one way I'll get in trouble, and that's if a certain house elf tells the faculty where I've been. That would get me into trouble, and we wouldn't want that, WOULD WE?"

Willy's startled face was far more than Eric was hoping for, and he wished that he could've taken back what he did; but if he backed down now, Willy would've stopped him from taking his broom out. Eric grabbed his flying garb, his broom and a small vial, and went back to the access panel. "If you really want to help me, make sure nobody gets in here while I'm gone. I just need a little air."

Taking to the night sky was indeed the tonic Eric needed. He couldn't help but enjoy how the air felt, and how his flying clothes made him look. Soaring through the night, he was a dark hooded spectre blotting out the stars. As he passed around and between the various towers, another student caught his eye – a young boy in the Gryffindor tower who apparently couldn't sleep, either. As Eric drew closer, he could tell it was Harry Potter.

If it was any earlier in the evening, he would've just left. However, the flight had the desired effect of mellowing his temper, and he really felt like talking to someone. He buzzed up under the window then slowly rose into view, hoping not to startle Harry. However, the expression on his face suggested that Eric was not entirely successful. Eric was, however, undeterred. "Hello. You're Harry Potter, right?"

"Um, yes." Harry's cracking voice clearly indicated that Eric's attempts at being polite weren't working. "If you don't mind me asking, what are you?"

Eric suddenly felt uncomfortably dumb, realizing that Harry was staring into an empty black hood. "Oh, I'm sorry. I drank an invisibility potion before I went out tonight. I guess I should have explained that first."

Harry's features relaxed in a spasm of relief. "Oh. Not to be rude, but it's not really working, is it?"

"Actually, it's working fine. You're looking straight at me, yet you can't see me, right?"

Harry chuckled at the thought. "Well, yes, but couldn't you still get caught?"

"Only if somebody gets ahold of me. If they just see me, they don't know who I am. It's a bit safer than other methods of disappearing, and it earns less detention. Take a lesson from this, though: a potion only works on the one drinking it. Not their clothes, not anything they're holding – just them."

Harry seemed to relax as the two of them began talking. Harry was an orphan, too, and seemed to understand a lot that Eric was feeling. Although Eric made sure not to tell Harry everything about him, it was nice to be able to talk to someone who had been through a life similar to his own, although Eric had to admit that, given the Dursleys, Harry had it worse.

Eric began to understand why Hagrid liked Harry; it was hard not to. He decided he wanted to give Harry something for the nice talk they had. "Say, you want to take a spin around the castle?"

Harry looked uncertainly at Eric's absent form. "Uh, I don't think that's such a good idea."

Eric tried to encourage him further, but Harry seemed reasonably determined to remain grounded. "Well, you're going to have flying lessons coming up. Care for some suggestions, at least?"

"Sure." It seemed that taking the risk of running into something out of the lesson improved Harry's interest immensely.

Eric was flushed with pride that he could be the first to teach Harry Potter something about wizarding. "Ok, here's the deal about flying: nothing could be simpler. These brooms are enchanted to move where they're directed to. All you have to do is to hang on firmly and think about where you want the broom to go. For your first time, it helps if you guide and direct using your hands and shifting your weight. The broom won't care, but it'll feel more natural for you. Got that?"

"Got it."

"Now: watch carefully." Eric drew away from Harry's window and sprinted through a series of spiraling knots and figure eights, speeding back and forth before ending up back by the window. "As long as you keep your head about what you're doing and don't get nervous, you can be flying like this your first day."

"Thanks!" Harry seemed extremely grateful for the lesson. "It was nice talking to you, but I have to get to bed. Oh, what's your name?"

Eric paused for a moment. "I'd like to tell you, but it might get us both in more trouble than either of us would probably prefer."

Harry seemed to like the mystery. "All right. Good night, and be careful getting back home."

Eric's heart soared as he snuck back to his room and the Slytherin dorm. The invisibility potion had long since worn off, so he was just someone sneaking back to the room after curfew. He had talked with Harry Potter. They even seemed to hit it off. Maybe, once he was settled, he could try to strike up a friendship dispite the problems that inevitably cropped up between Gryffindors and Slytherins. Maybe this could all work out.

Eric was desperate to have something go his way, and soon. The snores coming from Malfoy and his friends made his current situation far more clear than he would have preferred.


	6. Chapter 6

It would've been nice if the happiness could have lasted, but as classes began it became clear that this was going to be a long year. Transfiguration seemed to go on forever. Everyone was fiddling with their matches, trying to make them change. Eric knew the right steps, but not wishing to stick out, he decided to work on something different, seeming to struggle with the simplest of spells, but taking the remainder of his time to sketch out a personal project. He was finally making progress, and the idea of getting somewhere with it was eating him up inside.

Class finally ended with McGonagall praising that Herminey girl for making some amount of progress. Eric just packed up his materials to go, but didn't have far to walk before McGonagall's voice froze him in his tracks. "Eric Sable, please remain a few minutes."

She paced back and forth in front of him, very much like the cat she enjoyed turning into, before finally speaking. "You aren't quite as clever as you may think, young man. While I appreciate the effort you put into not drawing attention to yourself, it was quite clear that you didn't find today's class the least bit interesting. Would you care to explain why?"

Eric could have explained, but it was far easier to demonstrate. Drawing out his wand and foregoing the usual incantations, he simply waved it in a double spiral before tapping a matchstick, instantly shifting it into a rather ornate hatpin. "For you, Professor."

McGonagall was taken aback by the sudden demonstration. "Well, it certainly seems that you have your basics down. So why don't you show me what's taken up so much of your interest?"

Eric wasn't quite ready to share his work, but once someone showed an interest in him, he found it hard to hold back. Drawing out his notes, he laid out a series of detailed, intricate patterns. The spirals and knots held sigils of almost every kind imaginable. The professor examined it intently; first with interest, then her brow furled into a deep scowl. "Would you care to explain this, Mister Sable?"

Confused by her reaction, Eric nevertheless proceeded. "This is an algorythim for a Philosopher's Stone. You see, everyone acts like it's a natural substance; but in order to do what's expected of it, it has to be an intricate balance of enchantments and elements. See here? This shows how each layer has to be set one on top of the other in order to create the transfiguring powers of the stone. Natural elements and magical forces work the opposite; functioning based on the releasing of energy, not the overlapping of it. As a result, greater and greater restraints and guides have to be laid over the core elements.

"I'm not done, of course, but I've been working on this particular pattern for over three months, and I think I've finally got the first principles of how such a stone would work. If I can untangle this last section, the rest should start to flow out as a function of the founding patterns."

McGonagall stood silent, taking in all that was laid out before her. "Tell me, Eric, have you drawn any conclusions from this work?"

"Well, it certainly holds a lot of promise. Unfortunately, the balance that's developing is very unstable. I could be wrong, but anyone using such an item would have to spend twice as much time and effort maintaining the stone as he did using it. Otherwise, all the elements would crash in on each other, spinning out of control and shattering the matrix."

Eric waited for her to show him all his mistakes. The response he got, however, was completely unexpected. "An interesting theory, Mister Sable. Have you shared it with anyone?"

"No ma'am. So far, it's just a pattern. Without the core elements, it's nothing more than a theory."

The professor's face quivered for a moment, almost expressing relief before straightening again. "It's clear that we need to give you more of a challenge." She walked to the back of the room where a rack of shelved books stood vigilant. "This is my library, Eric. From now on, this seat in the back shall be yours, and I will leave a note on what I would like you to work on. You will find suitable reading materials set aside for you. If you find that you need further material, you may request it and I will see if it can be made available before the next class period. As long as you can prove that you can work under these conditions, this arrangement will continue. You will be exempt from the usual class work, and be given your own mid-terms and finals."

Once she finished speaking, McGonagall moved to leave. Eric suddenly paniced. "Um, Professor? May I have my work back?"

She turned back to face him, with an expression that almost suggested regret. "No, Eric, you may not. This is not the sort of material a first year should be studying. I strongly advise you to forget about this and work on the material I will provide you." She then turned and left, leaving Eric alone in the classroom.

While the thought of not being tied to first year work had briefly offered him the satisfaction of a challenge, the professor had just walked out with a year's worth of investigations. It was far from ready – the patterns forming would take years just to sort out, and then twice as much time to figure out the elements and enchantments needed as equivalents to the algorythmic patterns. But it was real work – the kind most wizards never bother themselves with, always seeking the easy way out or some quick result, rather than putting research into a goal that provides real satisfaction. Working on the Philosopher's Stone was the challenge of a lifetime, and now everything he had developed had walked out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the week provided challenges that weren't really directed at him, but were no less formitable. Particularly, the way his house, even Professor Snape ( or perhaps especially him ) held everyone who wasn't part of Slytherin in complete contempt. Eric really felt terrible every time someone's day was made worse by a Slytherin. As it was, he tended to spend his days following five steps behind his classmates to help the unfortunates they knocked about, only to receive the wrath of the victims. After all, wasn't he a Slytherin, too?

The bright spot was flying class. Even though he had to be careful not to show off, it would be a chance to finally get off the ground out in the open, without having to sneak about it. Besides that, Madame Hooch was a fair minded teacher. Maybe he could work a deal to become a tutor, rather than another student. All he needed was to demonstrate his abilities and a willingness to teach everybody fairly. The points that would earn Slytherin house should be enough to keep the other students from teasing him about it.

Of course, if life was that simple, school would have proven easy. First there was Longbottom's accident. Eric felt terrible about it – Neville seemed like such a nice sort, yet calamity seemed to follow him more loyally than a loving puppy. If that wasn't bad enough, Malfoy had to start his usual garbage; stealing to create misery and baiting others. This time his aim was at the Gryffindors, in particular Harry Potter. Worst of all, Harry accepted.

It wasn't that Eric thought ill of Harry, it was just that he wanted the chance to fix Malfoy himself. He had the skills on the broom, and in a way it was his responsibility: Malfoy was a Slytherin, and therefore it was a Slytherin's duty to restrain him. Instead, there went Harry, who had never been on a broom in his life, to challenge a bully who had probably been riding since he could walk.

Eric would have thought more on it if the scene before him played out like it should have. Instead, Harry flew like he'd been born to it. His movements and control were natural and smooth. Harry stayed in control and before anyone could think further, he was landing again to the cheers of every house but the Slytherins, having bested Malfoy and saved Neville from what would've been a nasty chewing out from his grandmother – from all accounts a fair but severe woman to be sure.

All of this left Eric very much alone. He couldn't congradulate Harry without getting more ire from the other Slytherins, and when Harry was hauled off by McGonagall, he couldn't feel bad for him, either. Eric began to feel like the lonliest soul for a hundred miles. Even when he heard that McGonagall had taken Harry to make him the Gryffindor Seeker, he felt no better. What was the point of wanting to congradulate someone when there was no way you could?

By the end of the day, Eric was miserable. His house was cheerfully berating him, trying to make him something he wasn't. Everyone else avoided him, thinking that he must be just another Slytherin rat. Hagrid was all wrapped up in making Harry Potter feel at home, and his room was boarded up. He needed to escape it all – just for a while. He needed a quiet place to hide and a friend to talk to. It was a pity that the best person he could think of was dead.

Waiting until everyone was off on their own doings, Eric snuck through the back halls by the Dark Arts classrooms and down the corridor until he found his destination: the girl's bathroom. Normally, this would probably have been the absolute limit, but not here. Entering as quietly as he could, he found a quiet corner to sit and wait.

He didn't have to wait long, though – Myrtle wasn't partial to intruders. "Who's there?" Her sharp, snapping words echoed through the empty lavatory.

"It's only me, Myrtle. I haven't had a chance to talk for a while, so I thought I'd stop by."

Myrtle's expression softened a bit when she saw him. "Eric, you came back! Peeves was teasing me the other day, saying that you joined those nasty Slytherins and now were showing them all the ways around the castle; plotting such mean things!"

Eric sighed. "Peeves was half-right. I did end up in Slytherin house, but there's not any plotting going on. Not unless you count their plotting to tear up my bedsheets, or turn my pillow stuffing into poison ivy, or other such brilliant uses of the time between classes."

Myrtle clucked with sympathy, and the two of them sat together for a while, consoling each other over the general unfairness of things. She had been Eric's best friend and confidant for as long as he could remember. She was the only one in the school who would talk to him, and the only person who had time for him and who didn't leave. By the time any of the other students got to know him, they were usually graduating – with the exceptions of the Weasleys. Eric tended not to get overly friendly with them, though. They kept looking for new secret tunnels, and Eric very much wanted to keep his own secrets.

All in all, Eric spent about an hour with Myrtle. She loved his company – he never teased her, and he always tried to say something nice to cheer her up. She was kind a big sister to him; the good kind who tried to look out for him and didn't borrow his stuff. However, he finally had to leave, so with a promise that the hall was clear, a wink and Myrtle's best wishes he was back in the hall with nowhere to go but out. Out into a world that had no place for him until he found a corner to carve out for himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Evening came with Eric still feeling like he needed a break, so he decided to check on Neville. The hospital would be the safest place for meeting anyone outside his house, since in order to be there you had to either be injured or checking on a friend. Since none of the Slytherins had blown themselves up in the first week, there was no chance any of them would be anywhere near the beds.

Neville was lying back on a cot, still in his flying robes, staring off at the ceiling. The fact that he had a guest gave him a start, but the fact that his guest was a Slytherin confounded him. Eric tried to take it in stride, though. "Don't let the robes fool you. I'm really very different than the person you think you see."

Neville didn't seem comforted. "You could probably say the same thing about me. Here I am at Hogwarts in flying robes, wand in my pocket and everything, but I'm probably going to end up to be the most pathetic wizard in history."

"Don't worry about it. Some of the most successful students in Hogwarts started out worse than you. It just takes some time to get the hang of it." Eric drew out his wand. "Here; want to try something simple?"

"I don't know. Professor Flitwick tried to teach us a basic wand motion, but Hermoine said I was doing it wrong."

"She's bright, that one, but she misses the mark when it comes to dealing with others. Anyway: the 'swish and flick' is a bit harder to master than they say. It's a two-part move meant to draw together magical energy then apply it it two distict motions. Personally, I think there's a way to picture it: think of your wand as a large scoop, and you're going to dig out some sherbert." Eric couldn't help but smile as Neville's eyes lit up. Clearly, he was speaking his student's language. "You dig the scoop deeply into the sherbert, then snap it straight into the bowl in front of you."

The two of them repeated the move together three times before Eric continued. "Now, if you want to see if you've got it, repeat these words while you're casting: 'illuminus dochs'. When you do it, match one word for each movement and enunciate; like this:"

Eric held his wand solidly before him. "_Illuminus Dochs!"_ A small sphere of pure light popped out from his wandtip and hovered for a second, quickly burning itself out. "The spell creates a small lightform – nice and harmless. Give it a go."

Neville steeled himself, set his jaw in determination, then cast. Giant tentacles of spectral energy burst out of his wand, streaking out to the middle of the room where they joined into a swirling volume the size of a bowling ball. Blinding light filled the ward while a low hum resonated through every pipe and tube in the room.

Struggling to see, Eric got his bearings enough to counter the errant spell. _"Dispelium Mysticus!"_ With a huge popping noise, the ball was gone and the two boys sat dazed in the relative darkness.

Neville lamented forlornly. "You see? I can't even do the simplest of spells without messing it up."

"Actually, most fifth year students couldn't make that spell go off that spectacularly, no matter how much they put into it. That's the result from having way too much untapped potential." Eric looked at Neville with a newfound sense of respect. "You get a handle on your abilities, Longbottom, and there won't be a wizard in the world who could match you spell for spell."

Neville wasn't convinced. "Knock it off, that isn't funny."

"I'm not trying to be. Everybody thinks you just have bad luck. It might be that your natural ability hasn't been able to find a release, so it keeps creating one. The results are things happening out of nowhere: brooms taking off on their own, your frog disappearing and re-appearing at random, spells misfiring, that sort of thing. You see it as bad luck, but if it really is magic potential, then you just need to learn how to re-direct it, and you'll be the best of everyone."

Neville couldn't help but smile. It didn't matter if Eric was right or not; the fact that he was saying nice things about him was enough.


	9. Chapter 9

Days flowed into weeks, and weeks into months. Eric dedicated himself to his classwork and personal projects in a desperate attempt to escape his situation, even if only in his mind. Halloween had come and gone with not more than the usual nonsense. Sure there was the troll, but Halloween was usually good for some minor crisis or disaster. At least this time it wasn't the Weasleys ( or at least their alibi held ). Eric was fairly sure that it really wasn't them anyway – the twins were usually good for a laugh and an elaborate gag, but never anything that could really hurt someone.

Meanwhile, Eric's contempt for Slytherin house had reached it's limit. He had long since reached the point where he hoped Slytherin tower would break it's foundations and crash to the ground. The fact that it could take him with it would've been a minor annoyance. Malfoy and his cronies were getting to be completely intolerable. Worse, search as he might, he couldn't find another soul in the house who felt like he did. At first he thought they were trying to hide out like he was. That thought ended when he went through the house tenants one at a time to pick out anyone else like himself, only to find them all in one vicious circle or another.

Finally, it was time for the first Quiddich match of the year: Slytherin vs Gryffindor. Eric decided to volunteer for the ground crew: students that would wait to care for anyone knocked out of the sky. A good ground crew meant a quick recovery for the players, and it was a way he could participate without having to share the sky with Marcus Flint.

The game started well enough, and it was easy enough to tuck next to the Slytherin stands so that none of the others could see him cheering as Gryffindor took an early lead. If Harry was really as good as Oliver Wood seemed to think he was, he'd make a real good showing this game. Meanwhile, the snitch was zipping back and forth across the field. It was hard not to get too wrapped up in the game, but he wasn't there to watch and cheer – he was there in case of an emergency.

Of course, Quiddich being what it is, one plopped right in his lap within the first few minutes when a Gryffindor chaser caught a bludger to the head, knocking her dizzy and dropping her to the ground like a stunned pigeon. Eric was at her side as soon as she landed, asking her questions and checking for blood. She seemed well enough, just dazed.

Eric pulled out an emerald potion. "Here, drink this – it'll help you shake the hit." Katie Bell looked at him for a minute, suspicion filling her eyes. Knowing how the Slytherins were playing, Eric did his best not to be offended. "That would be cheating."

Testing the potion at first, she downed it in a shot. Almost immediately her balance improved, and the dizziness cleared, and her expression changed from uncertainty to confused gratitude. "Um, thanks."

"It's why I'm here. Just be careful." Eric waved her back in into the game, where she quickly rejoined her teammates in harassing Adrian Pucey. It was interesting watching how the game rolled, spun, then stopped while the Seekers went for the Snitch. Eric couldn't decide what part of the game was more exciting when Marcus Flint decided to put a stop to the Seeker's chase. Even with the foul and free shot for Gryffindor, Eric wished there was more he could do to make up for his house's despicable acts.

Just as Eric began thinking on this, Harry's broom started jumping back and forth. Eric could see the Gryffindor players giving up the game to help him, while the Slytherins took the opportunity to score points. Eric decided to prepare himself: the best tactic would be to grab Harry in a levitation spell and use it to keep him out of trouble, just in case the broom went after him. Eric had to wait, though: grabbing him while he was holding on to the broom would've negated the spell or worse. Harry had to be in freefall first.

Yet Harry didn't fall. Even though it heaved and jumped, Harry seemed to be able to maintain a deathgrip on the handle. It seemed an eternity of searching for an opportunity to act, only for it not to come. Harry's broom steadied and he got back on it, and with a flurry of speed, skill, and a little dumb luck, the game was over and Gryffindor had won. Eric couldn't help but be thrilled, shouting and applauding for Harry and his team as if they were his own. That's when it happened - the worst thing that could have possibly happened in the whole of the year: Marcus Flint saw him cheering.

Eric knew this would be the last straw in a pile of slights that the house had gathered up against him over the entire term. Once again, his actions had started a torrent that was about to pound against him worse than a November gale, and there was nothing to do but to prepare for it.


	10. Chapter 10

Eric counted his bruises while sitting in the dark with all his shattered posessions. He figured that this was inevitable, for it probably wasn't the most diplomatic thing to do to cheer against his house for their bitter rivals. However, Eric was sick of hiding. He was sick of doing everything in secret, sick of having to disguise the fact that he liked people everyone else in his house hated, and sick of being a pariah in the school because of the colors he wore.

Knowing what he was in for spared his wand from getting shattered – he had given it to Midget for safe keeping – but that didn't spare everything else he had worked on or his etremely sore ribs. All the gear he had collected over the years was dropped seven flights down the stairwell right after they had re-arranged themselves. They had sailed clear to the bottom and had shattered against Hogwart's impervious foundations. All his books were torn apart, and everything was ruined beyond repair.

As bad as that was, the beating he got from Crabbe and Goyle was worse, and certainly didn't leave him pretty. One punch or kick for every point that Gryffindor got – with an extra five ( or was it ten? Eric lost count after a bit ) for helping Katie Bell. Eric couldn't help but admire his tormentors, though. They had really thought this all through to the last detail, and everything was done in such a way as to keep them from being caught. There wasn't a shred of evidence that could point back to any one of them other than Eric's word, which would simply have caused him more pain.

It'd be a good idea to get to the hospital wing, but he just didn't feel like it. He didn't feel much like anything at that point except being where he was, sitting in the dark, and just letting everything go for a while. He wasn't sure what he was going to do now. He couldn't go back to Slytherin – they'd just beat him up again. He never heard of a student going to Hogwarts who wasn't part of one of the four houses. It looked like his next move would be out of Hogwarts and out on the street. It was a forbidding prospect to be sure, but at the moment, it was better than what was behind him.

The thought occurred to him that his injuries might even kill him. The part that made him sad, though, was that dying didn't seem all that bad. The worst that would happen is that he'd be another Hogwarts ghost; that would mean hanging about like Myrtle, or even hanging about with Myrtle. Compared to what he had been through the last several months, spending an afterlife with a friend looked downright cheerful.

Eric lost track of exactly how long he had sat there when he heard a noise; no, two noises. Two figures were sneaking about in the dark. Eric painfully tucked himself back into an alcove to avoid being seen before he could make out these new intruders.

"Are you sure it was supposed to be here?"

"On the north wall at the base of the staircase – push the third red brick from the top over and it opens."

"Hey, what do you make of all this?" A tall, lanky figure moved cautiously into the light, revealing the Weasley twins on yet another secret passage hunt. At least it wasn't a Slytherin follow-up party.

Eric came out from the shadows. "It's my gear, at least it was."

Fred ( or maybe George ) looked over to him. "Cor, you gave me a start – good grief, what happened to you?"

"A bit of house discipline, I guess." Eric slumped onto a pillar and slid to the floor.

George ( or Fred ) started up the staircase. "Stay with him; I'll get help."

Eric gave up trying to figure out which Weasley had stayed with him – just having the company was an improvement. He tried not to move too much or breathe too hard, but the aches were slowly getting worse.

"Don't worry, we'll see you straightened out. We always have, right?" Eric couldn't argue. He first crossed the Weasley's path two years ago, and they had taken him in sort of as another little brother. Eric took to the role eagerly; the little lookout, watching the hall for instructors while the twins worked out every last nitche and corridor that Hogwarts could offer. The booty coming back from Hogsmeade wasn't half bad, either. That had stopped when he entered Slytherin house; he had forgotten how much he missed it.

Eric's companion shifted uneasily. The imposing silence must have bugged him. "You know, Katie was going on after the game how surprised she was that you didn't poison her."

Eric grimaced at the thought. "That's hardly fair, poisoning an injured opponent you're supposed to be helping; not to mention unsportsmanlike."

"Don't act so surprised. You know the reputation of the Slytherins better than anyone."

"I don't give a shriveled peel about what people think of Slytherin House. I had hoped you knew me better."

"Just because we do, doesn't mean anyone else does."

Eric was suddenly confused. "If that's true, why have you been avoiding me?"

"What would your house have said of you spending time with two Gryffindors? Fred and I thought you had enough problems as it was. We didn't want to make it worse."

Eric smirked at the thought. "Gee, George, that really worked well." He laughed for a second, before his bruised ribs protested the action.

Fred came back with the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, as well as a few first-year stragglers. Eric immediately recognized them as Harry's circle; Ron, Hermoine, and Neville Longbottom. For a moment, they all looked about at the devistation with sickening amounts of pity before they started gathering the pieces together. All of them except Katie Bell.

"Good heavens, who did this to you – and what's the matter with you two?" Katie reeled against Fred and George as if they set her broom on fire. "Can't you see he needs help right now?"

Eric started to panic. Help meant questions, questions meant answers, and answers probably meant more beatings. "Please, I just need to…"

Katie turned back to him with a glare that would stop a dragon. "You shut up. Just thank heaven that you're still able to breathe. Fred: get that plank, it should be long enough. You and George will take him to the hospital. I'll go on ahead and warn Madame Pomfrey."

"She'll want him to explain. Isn't that going to make things worse than they are?"

"If he turns much more purple than this, things won't be able to get any worse." There was no arguing, for Katie was adamant.

Oliver Wood did his best to take charge. "Don't worry about your stuff – we'll tend to it." Eric would've been more concerned about it all, but given what it had been through, there wasn't much harm that could be done to it.

When Eric entered the hospital, he found more than Madame Pomfrey waiting for him. The second she saw him, her expression changed from a confident expectation to shock. "Oh, my word! Who could've been so harsh? Into bed with him."

Pomfrey's nursing skills were unquestioned, and the potions she offered had their desired effect. Within an hour it was as if nothing had happened, and Eric was ready to leave, only he wasn't permitted. "Really, Ma'am, I'm much better."

"I'll hear none of it, young man. You've clearly been through quite an experience, and a night of rest is most certainly in order. Unless, of course, you have a more comfortable resting place awaiting you?"

That stopped Eric cold. True, he felt like a lump lying about in the hospital when there was nothing wrong with him, but unfortunately he couldn't think of any place other than Myrtle's lavatory to turn to. Under the circumstances, a cot in the hospital was the most welcoming place he had. Therefore, he slumped back into the cot while two partitions were set up to give him some privacy. He thought the day would end boringly enough, but he was actually overrun with visitors.

Harry Potter was the first. He had found Eric's flying cloak in his broken gear. He was really grateful for the suggestions Eric had given him, though he couldn't figure out why Eric wasn't playing for Slytherin. That was easy to explain. "If you hated your entire team and thought they were scum, would you want to be out there playing with them?"

Fred and George were next, full of well-wishes and moral support while they were being watched. As soon as Madame Pomfrey's back was turned, though, they whipped out a makeshift map, begging for notes and directions. Eric couldn't help but be amused, so he relented and filled in a few details, adding a total of three new corridors to the Weasley's already impressive catalog of secret passages. They left with a smirk and a promise to take him along on their next foray to Hogsmeade. Eric promised himself not to be disappointed if they forgot.

Next came Katie, Alicia and Angelina, with Oliver Wood hovering in the rear like some sort of chaparone. Eric couldn't help but chuckle at the amusing scene. They'd brought him a bag of Bertie Bott's Beans. "We're pretty sure we picked out all the nasty ones, and we took a collection – a little ghost told me you like the strawberry."

Even Myrtle came out of the plumbing after dark. She was really sorry for all he'd been through, but couldn't keep herself from being overjoyed that he was out of Slytherin tower. "I know how much it hurts to get rejected, but think how much better off you are."

Eric smirked at Myrtle. "Actually, once they got through the hundred and seventy five blows, the rejection really didn't bug me that much." Myrtle broke into a giggle-fit before the crashing sounds of footsteps chased her off.

He had already figured out who his next guest was even before hearing him. "I don' think this is such a good idea, Perfessor. The boy needs his sleep an' all."

"Come come, Hagrid. Pretty much everyone else involved has come by to give their regards. You don't want to be left out, do you?"

Hagrid's massive form peeked out from the side of a curtain. "Um, hello Eric, me and Perfessor Dumbledore here…" Hagrid stuttered and stopped, for Dumbledore was nowhere to be found. He looked about uncertainly before sitting down onto the next cot, the springs screaming in protest.

It was hard to imagine Hagrid disturbed about anything, but he shifted about nervously as if something was about to bite him. "Look, Eric, I've been kinda bad to you lately. You got picked up by Slytherin an', well, I got upset about it. Y'see, I got a history with them, an' it just felt like you left me to go off with the bunch that got me in trouble. Only now I see that it wasn't you that left at all; it was me. I left you to fend for yourself in the middle of that snakepit. I'm sorry boy, I'm really sorry."

Hagrid struggled to look proper while his massive bulk shuddered with sniffling. In reply, Eric didn't say anything. It was far easier to give Hagrid a hug and bury himself in the depths of his coat to hide his own tears.

After a shaky goodbye, Hagrid wandered back off into the hall, charging Eric to rest and get his strength back. Eric waited until he was gone before finding his clothes and digging out a silver training whistle. He blew a five-note pattern on it, and his owls dutifuly responded by bringing his wand back to him. Checking it over, he praised his charges for their excellent care of it.

Eric thought to himself: the well-wishers have been through, Hagrid's apologized, he had his wand back, what was left? Suddenly, it hit him. "I know you're around here somewhere. I'd prefer you in front of me and visible."

A sound of gathering wind heralded the appearance of Willy. "Oh, young master, Willy feels terrible. He should have been at your side defending you against those ruffians. Willy is disgraced, and can never be allowed before wizards again." His sorrowful eyes brought forth a torrent that endangered the woodwork's finish up to five feet away.

Eric, however, had no intention of letting this continue. "It's my fault too, Willy. If I hadn't gotten so wrapped up in my own problems, I've known enough to stay in touch. Can't we call it even?"

Willy looked up to Eric with an expression of pure adoration. "Willy abandons Eric in his time of need, yet young master wants Willy back?"

Knowing what too much kindness brings out of a house elf, Eric had to act quickly. "I would very much like a a cream puff, accompanied with three-quarters cup of cold milk."

Willy straightened up. "At once, sir, and thank you!" With a pop, he was gone.

Eric settled into his cot. His fences were mended, broken friendships were restored, and he had a cream puff on the way. After over two months of struggling, things were finally coming together.


	11. Chapter 11

Madame Pomfrey checked in on Eric in the morning. "Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you. Go down the main corridor and wait in front of the gargoyle."

Eric straightened himself up and headed off, stopping by the main hall to grab a cinnamon roll. There was no reason to face expulsion hungry. The trek to the gargoyle was quiet enough, and soon he was facing the grimacing statue, who only waited a moment before the great figure moved aside, revealing the moving staircase to the Headmaster's office.

Entering the vast room, Eric found himself feeling very small. Every portrait was, amazingly enough, awake; and all of them were staring at Eric as he crossed the room. Dumbledore was behind his desk, waiting for him. "All recovered, I see? Excellent – we can now discuss what you've learned over the last several months."

Eric was extremely confused. "What I've learned? With no disrespect, all I've learned is that I can get pushed into a house where I'm not wanted, judged for where I am far more than who I am, and beaten for doing things that most folks would consider noble."

Dumbledore beamed a great smile. "Ah, I see you've learned a great deal. Excellent. Now, let us retrace your steps to discover how you came by this fate. At what point did your circumstances no longer meet with your approval?"

Realizing that the professor was entirely serious about this, Eric found a chair to settle into. His eyes searched the room and quickly siezed upon the object of his disapproval. "When that hat of yours chucked me into Slytherin."

"Yes, the hat does the sorting, and it placed you into Slytherin. However, it only did so because it determined that Slytherin would be the house you would be most suited for. I seem to recall that when it happened, I felt that either the hat had misjudged you or I had. Considering the outcome, I believe we can determine which of us it was. All that remains now is to determine why, so think hard; what were you thinking about that night – why would the hat consider you to be a Slytherin cannidate, when the outcome clearly illustrates what a mistake that has been?"

Eric was extremely befuddled. "I can't imagine, sir."

"Well, let's try this – what house did you want to enter?"

"I didn't have one in mind."

"Ah, so what did you have in mind?"

There was something about how Dumbledore asked his questions that made Eric want to answer. "I just wanted to be the best. To show that I was as good as anyone. I've been around magic for years and I wanted to prove myself."

"Prove yourself to whom?"

Eric paused, and then thought – who did he have to prove himself to? No one ever made an issue about how good a wizard he would be. Nobody ever cared until he entered Slytherin house, at which point he was never good enough.

Dumbledore smiled again. "I see that you're onto it. You thought you'd be happy once everyone knew how great you were, only it didn't work. My boy, it never does. Happiness doesn't come from being the best, or from having the most, or any other pursuit to define your own self-worth. Happiness comes when you leave the matter of your own worth behind you, focusing instead on appreciating the value of others. This frees you from the trap of constantly having to prove yourself, and allows you to spend time enjoying activities simply for what they are, rather than for what you can accomplish.

"Slytherins are driven folk. They aren't all as malicious as the ones you've encountered – we'd be hard pressed to justify the continued existence of the house if they were. They are, however, primarily driven by an inward hunger for accomplishment before everything else. This disregard for other considerations tends to result in students that can't function in other environments. They are most comfortable surrounded by others like themselves, even though the competition in such an environment is often as taxing as any other."

Dumbledore got up from his chair. "I've given you quite a bit to think about. Now, I have to meet with some of the faculty over this whole affair, and I would appreciate it if you went to the back of the office until I call for you."

Eric dutifully went as he was bid, finding a comfortable chair and settling in. Dumbledore's library was immense, and since he didn't forbid Eric to look, he picked out a rather extensive tome on enchantments, seeking to bury himself in new things until he was called. Unfortunately, curiousity got the best of him, and he was just dying to know what was happening.

Quietly maneuvering himself, Eric could make out the meeting in the front office. Before Dumbledore were the four heads of Hogwart's student houses and their prefects. All of them held an expression of concern, though Professor Snape's seemed to be a bit more anxious than the others.

Dumbledore addressed the group. "We have a dreadful situation before us. His time in Slytherin house has resulted in an alienation from the other houses typical of Slytherin students, yet his nature has kept him from making alliances with other Slytherin students. He has only a scant few friends he can turn to for support and companionship, none of whom have been able to help him. Now Eric has been assaulted by those whom he was supposed to be able to turn to for help."

Professor Snape sneered at this. "Headmaster, there was no evidence that could be found indicating that any Slytherin student was involved."

"On the contrary, Severus. While your charges are very clever and indeed there is no evidence that can be traced to any one student, one thing remains. The fact that Eric's books, materials, clothes, and the trunk they were held in ended up at the base of the stairs clearly indicates that someone removed them from the Slytherin dormatory. Now, do you wish to suggest that one or more students from another house managed to breach Slytherin's defenses and make off with his property intending to destroy them? If so, I will hear you out as soon as you can provide a motive."

Snape fell silent. While he despised the accusation against his house, it would've meant humiliation to suggest that Slytherin Tower had a flaw in it's defenses.

Taking Snape's silence as permission, Dumbledore continued on. "None of us can argue that Eric is an exceptional student, and we do not wish to lose him. However, no student has ever attended this school without joining one of the houses, and I'm not about to break with that tradition."

Again, Snape quickly took up against the Headmaster's implication. "Sir, I know the matter is unfortunate, but I see no reason to consider a request for transfer this early in the year. Give the boy time to adjust to the way Slytherin handles it's affairs, and I'm sure things will settle out."

"No request has been made, Severus. However, I cannot help but consider the boy's well being in this matter, and it is clear that his best interests have not been served to date. However, if everyone is willing to co-operate, I believe we can have this matter settled quickly and finally." Dumbledore turned to the back of the office. "Now that you've inevitably begun eavesdropping, Eric, you may come and join us."

As Eric stepped among the gathered assembly, Dumbledore continued. "As you might imagine, we find ourselves in a difficult position. It would seem that you are having trouble with the house you were sorted into. Therefore, another means of finding you a place to stay must be considered. Before you is a bag, and in that bag are four tokens – one for each of the houses. Now: I want you to think hard about what we've talked about, then reach in and remove a token."

Eric stood motionless for quite a while while he thought: how to find a house in which he could simply enjoy studying magic? There really was only one that excelled better than the others, one in which he could simply be himself. He straightened up, took a deep breath, and reached in the bag, removing the first token his fingers felt. The blue crest of Ravenclaw glimmered brightly in the candlelight.

Dumbledore straightened up. "So, the decision is now made. However, before we proceed, there is a matter that must be addressed. Eric, I have found out you have been out of your dorm after curfew. Normally, this would lose your house fifty points. However, you have also been exemplary in assisting your fellow students at every occasion you have found, made more noteworthy as they weren't of your own house, and thus you had nothing to gain for it. Since there have been three occasions in particular brought to my attention, I will grant you twenty points each, giving you ten points to take with you to your new house.

He then turned to the others in the room. "As I am already discussing a matter of points, we cannot overlook what has brought us all here. As violent behavior is wholely unacceptable, and since the accusation can reach far enough to identify a house, one hundred points will be taken from Slytherin as a result of their actions. In addition, a similar one hundred points will be given to Gryffindor; ten points for each student who assisted a Slytherin boy in a time of need."

With Dumbledore finished, Professor Flitwick was joyously beside himself, introducing Ravenclaw's prefect and explaining the rather straightforward expectations of Ravenclaws and how they were to behave. Professor Snape took to disputing the Headmaster's decisions, but was eventually convinced to accept them. Professors McGonagall and Sprout simply nodded and excused themselves.

Through all this, Eric simply stood, stunned at the outcome. Ravenclaw was where he wanted to be. They were the house of dedicated students, where his focus on his studies would be accepted and he could finally relax. The fact that he managed to pick it out of the four was unlikely at best, until he remembered Dumbledore's exact words. He clenched the token in his hands and closed his eyes, focusing on one thought with all his might.

When he opened his eyes again, the token in his hand brought a skip to his heart. Gathering what little he brought into the office, he walked up to the Headmaster and handed him the token. "Thank you sir – I won't disappoint you."

Dumbledore watched Eric leave his office then looked down at the token. The face of the gargoyle downstairs sneered back at him, it's eyes shut tight while sticking out it's tongue. The headmaster chuckled with merriment as he drew out the other tokens, each taking on the same image as they sat in his palms.


	12. Chapter 12

Eric settled in quickly with his new house. Initially, he tried to just blend in with the scenery. However, the Ravenclaws seemed to go out of their way to welcome him – sorting ended up light for them again this year, and it was nice to have another strong student. As the others got to know him, he began to gain popularity for his ability to describe the rules of magic that were simpler than the instructors.

It didn't take long for him to gain noteriety among the first years. Eventually, he just took up camping out in the courtyard in an ever expanding circle of students discussing the classes they'd just been through. Although nobody ever set a rule, the group primarily consisted of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. As much as they never admitted it, Gryffindors and Slytherins had one thing in common: neither of them liked to ask for help. There were two exceptions, though.

Seamus Finnigan very much wanted to stop setting things on fire. Unfortunately, Seamus' abilities suffered from wild flares – a rare problem, but most often seen in mixed upbringings like Seamus, suggesting that they were based in his two natures fighting each other. It took three months of dilligent practice to get his casting under control, and another month of research into the problem before they determined that his problem was in his head. The risk would always be with him as long as he kept looking at himself as a "half and half", rather than just a whole person.

Neville Longbottom also joined the circle for a while, happier than most that Eric had changed houses. It didn't take him long to build his confidence enough to get basic casting down, and best of all – with Eric in Ravenclaw, there was nothing wrong with him spending time with Neville on the weekends teaching him how to fly.

The remainer of the year passed quietly enough for Eric, if not for everyone else. Rumors kept buzzing about Harry Potter, but Eric didn't care anymore. He was well into intermediate transformations, his circle of friends were growing, and being a student at Hogwarts was finally getting to be what it was supposed to.

Things had gotten so quiet, in fact, that he was stunned to receive another summons from the Headmaster. He couldn't imagine what it was about. After climbing the steps behind the gargoyle, he found the professor sitting at a small round table across from a man who could be his twin. Between the two of them was a small, round, blood red stone resting on top of a drawing he thought long since destroyed: his algorythim for the Philosopher's Stone.

"Ah, there you are. Eric Sable, this is Nicholas Flamel. Nicholas, I would like to present one of our brightest students."

Flamel rose slightly to shake Eric's hand. "Albus has been telling me much about you. It's been quite a year for you, hasn't it?" Eric simply nodded speechlessly. "I believe this was taken from you a while back. The basic work was excellent, but I've taken the liberty of filling in some of the missing details. Come have a look."

Eric was stunned. Here he was, a first year student, discussing intricate enchantments with the greatest alchemist alive. What's more, Flamel seemed even more taken with Eric, and extremely impressed with the work he had begun. True, most of the markings on the algorithym were made by Flamel now, but they wove in and out of his original work flawlessly, and there were no revisions to the core symbols. Eric had gotten the patterns right. As their conversations continued, Eric discovered that his conclusions were correct as well – the stone needed a wealth of maintenance in order to hold it's properties.

Dumbledore sat back watching the two of them, resembling a proud grandfather. When they had finally finished, he turned to Eric. "Now that you see how close you came to the truth, let me ask you: have you heard the rumors surrounding Harry Potter, Professor Quirrel, and the basement of our school?"

"Yes sir." Eric pointed to the stone. "Is that it, then?"

"Indeed it is. Do you now understand how much danger you were in? What if you found Dark Arts as tedious as Transfiguration? What do you think Quirrel would have done if he found you working on this?"

Knowing what had happened, Eric figured Quirrel probably would have helped him along for a while, until he got close enough to be useful. He suddenly shivered at the prospect of what could have happened next.

Dumbledore continued. "I see you've come upon it. Do you see what the presence of such a powerful item has done to our school? Three students injured, an instructor lost, so much effort put into the safe keeping of the stone, only to have every defense fail. We were all in terrible danger for a while, all of us. With that in mind, do you think it is wise to maintain the stone?"

Eric sat silently. He knew what Dumbledore wanted, he even felt that the headmaster was right. However, Flamel was sitting right next to him. He had been so nice, so pleasant to talk with that Eric didn't want to say anything that would possibly offend him.

However, Flamel just smiled and nodded. "Speak up my boy, we're anxious to know what you think."

Eric gulped. "Well, sir, as much as the stone's capable of, it doesn't look like it's a good idea to keep it around. Since both Gringotts and Hogwarts have been breached, there doesn't seem to be anywhere it can stay where it couldn't be stolen."

Dumbledore smiled. "The power available does not create value. Are we all agreed, then?" Eric sat confused while Dumbledore looked about. Flamel nodded to his partner. "Very well: the stone must be destroyed. Eric – what would you consider to be the best method for ridding ourselves of the stone once and for all?"

"Me, sir? Wouldn't Mister Flamel know better?"

"Eric, we are about to remove a valuable tool from our midst. It can prove useful one last time by providing an opportunity for a student to learn. Now, how should we destroy it?"

Eric thought for only a moment. "Well, it's easy enough to do. Simply use it for a transformation without preparing it. The result should throw the enchantments out of balance and break the stone from within. It has to be a reasonably powerful transformation, though. Anything less could leave a reminant that might be restored."

"Very good, very good indeed. In fact, I have just the thing in mind. If you will come into my study, and bring the stone please?"

On a granite table was a small stand, in which Eric was directed to place the stone. Across from it was a large bundled stack, wrapped in brown paper. Dumbledore handed Eric a scroll. "These are my Christmas presents from last year. I have looked through them, and have decided that they would be most suitable for our needs. Now then; these are the directions I wish you to follow. Cast the spell through the stone and everything should turn out just fine."

Eric read through the directions, then read them again, and again before turning to Dumbledore. "You're kidding, right?"

"My boy, I have never been more serious."

Eric read the enchantment over and over until he knew he had the words down perfectly. He drew his wand, focused his thoughts, and for two minutes recited the enchantment, vaporous light streaming out of his wand into the stone, which replied by sending out a crimson beam into the stacked bundle, causing it to warp and shift.

At length the spell was finished. The stone was now a grey lump on the stand that, when tapped, turned to a soft powder like a burned out charcoal briquette. The greatest accomplishment any alchemist could hope for was completely disintegrated. Dumbledore and Flamel rested a hand on each of Eric's shoulders, reassuring him that this was, indeed, for the best.

As for the bundled stack, it had been irrevokably transformed into forty pairs of wollen socks, bearing the most gaudy and ill-patterned colors one could ever imagine; with no two alike.


End file.
